Exit and Entrance
by Harkpad
Summary: This is a simple story about the hours after the Chitauri battle (Battle of New York). Clint finds out Phil is dead, and Phil finds out Clint's alive. (Clint/Coulson)


**A/N:** Written for a fic challenge on Tumblr (I'm westgateoh over there, btw). Thank you for reading!

* * *

There's glass in his arm, and it burns. He looks down and swallows a knot in his throat. There are red streaks on his skin and pink dots peppered around the streaks and he's not really sure what happened. He's sitting on a hard wooden chair, and tipped tables and broken chairs litter his view as he swings his head slowly around the room. There's a small dark-haired man behind a cracked bar watching them out of the corner of his eye.

"Clint."

He looks back at Natasha and she wavers in his vision, so he blinks slowly, tries to get her to stabilize. She does, after a moment.

"Do you want more food?" she asks, nodding at the basket on the table in front of him.

His stomach rolls a little at the sight. "No." His voice sounds thick, heavy like an axe. He reaches up and runs a hand through his hair and it feels coarse, dry, dusty.

"Hawkeye, are you feeling all right?" It's Captain Rogers, _Steve_ Rogers if it were Phil talking about him after a few drinks, because when Phil was a little drunk he always talked about _Steve_ like he was a kid, a scrapper who didn't stand down even though he could never win, and a survivor.

Phil should be here talking to his hero. Phil should be here.

"Where's Phil," he says to Natasha as he slams his boots to the floor and sits up straighter. He ignores the flash of pain in his back because her face falls, and Natasha Romanov's face never betrays her like that.

"Clint," she says, but at the same time Stark leans forward in his chair.

"Phil?" Stark says. "You knew Agent Coulson. . . enough to call him Phil?" Stark has a weird tightness to his mouth and is squinting. Clint notices Dr. Banner sitting up from his slouch.

Clint looks back at Natasha and knows. Fuck. He _knows_. "Goddamn it," he whispers, and stands up way too fast. The room spins and his breath leaves his chest in a rush, so he leans over, puts both hands on the table and drops his head. He sucks a breath in over his teeth and hears the others standing.

"Son of Coul fell, my friend," Thor's deep voice says, "He was most brave."

Clint looks over at Natasha and she nods. "Fuck."

"Hawkeye." It's Dr. Banner. "You're hurt." Banner looks around at the others and blinks as if he'd just woken up. "He needs a doctor."

"I need Phil," Clint snarls, and he steps away from the table. He's weaving like a drunkard, but he makes his way out of the restaurant and inhales the night air, trying to take stock of where they are. He actually has no idea.

Natasha is at his elbow, Rogers and Stark a step behind.

"Clint. Let us get you to a medic. This was a dumb idea coming out here."

"It was a dumb idea not to tell me that Phil fucking died. How the _fuck_ did he die?" Clint shouts. He ignores the stares of the people on the street.

Thor approaches and he holds out a hand to steady Clint, but Clint pulls away and works very hard not to stumble. "What the hell happened to Phil?"

"My brother stabbed him," Thor answers solemnly. "He was most brave and was trying to defeat Loki with a most amazing weapon, but Loki is a trickster and caught him from behind with his cursed spear."

Clint straightens and stands stock still, his blood running heavy through his veins, and time tips.

_He sees Loki stabbing Phil – Clint sees the spear tear through Phil's back as if Clint were holding it himself, hears the rip of flesh, feels the bone crunch and give as the spear drives through the other side and out Phil's chest. He smells Phil's aftershave mingling with coppery blood, feels Loki's glee at taking out Clint's lover. _

"He wasn't going to bother," Clint whispers as he opens his eyes and sees Natasha standing close, watching him as if he was going to fly into a thousand pieces, standing as if she could catch the pieces and hold him together.

"What?" she asks, moving closer, almost brushing his uniform with her hand.

"He knew what Phil was to me but he dismissed him as unimportant. He wasn't going to target him," Clint says, "But then I saw him do it. I saw the whole thing, Tasha. Saw him stab him, saw Phil shoot him, but I didn't care." He feels sick and his head feels like someone hit him with a cinder block - sharp, stabbing pain. Memories are slipping in around the image of the spear, arrows through eyes, men falling from rooftop guard posts.

He feels his mouth open and can taste the sharp tang of the New York air across his tongue, in and out as his chest rises and falls.

"Clint," Natasha says. "Let me get you to medical."

He backs away from her. "No. SHIELD's gonna kill me, Tasha."

"They won't," Banner says. "They know you weren't in control. They'll take care of you."

"Nice of you to think that, doc, but do you have any idea how many of my own people I just murdered?" His voice sounds funny in his own ears. He hears a note of hysteria and he can't stop his body from trembling like he'd just been doused in icy water.

"Clint," Natasha says, "They're not going to blame you. No one is going to blame you."

"I can't go back." If they're going to drag him back to SHIELD he'll go down fighting. SHIELD will kill him quickly – especially since he killed Phil – and Clint doesn't deserve quick.

He isn't going to let anyone make it easy. He pulls a knife from the sheath on his pants and everyone steps back.

"Whoa there, Fred Bear," Stark says, approaching with his hands up. "I have a compromise."

He stares at Stark. "What?"

"Come back to the Tower. I have a med center there and SHIELD can't get in."

"Coulson got in," Natasha says. She keeps her eyes on Clint, though.

"Yeah, well. Just Coulson. JARVIS liked him. No one else will get in and you guys can crash for a while. Get our heads on straight and see what's next."

Clint looks back and forth between Natasha and Stark, knife still raised.

Phil had liked Stark. Well, as far as anyone could like Tony Stark, but yeah. He'd liked him, and he'd liked JARVIS even better. Clint can't run, not right now, not in the shape he's in, so maybe crashing at Stark's is the best option. "Okay. The Tower. Just for tonight."

Stark waves a hand and a limo pulls up at that very moment, like he's summoned it out of thin air. "Everyone in."

Clint stares as Tony climbs in and Thor and Banner follow. Steve and Natasha are waiting on him. He sheathes the knife and climbs in, wincing as he does. Everything hurts like fuck and once the car starts moving the nausea kicks into high gear. He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose.

"Clint?" Natasha says, leaning into his arm a little, allowing herself that touch.

He just shakes his head and tries not to puke. He makes it to the Tower and into the nearest bathroom before he loses the shawarma he'd managed to eat earlier, and Banner is at his elbow offering a wet cloth to wipe his face. Clint doesn't mean to say anything, but he's shaking and about to shatter apart in front of the sink and he looks over at Banner. "We were together six years, doc," he mutters, and the water feels like a cold knife scraping across his face.

"Call me Bruce," Banner replies, throwing his shoulder under Clint's arm and taking most of his weight. "Come on, you need to see a real doctor. Tony's got one waiting upstairs for you."

Clint nods and tries not to trip.

* * *

Phil wakes with a gasp and finds himself in bed. Not his bed, a medical bay bed, but he isn't hooked to anything and he feels. . . fine. What the hell. He feels fine. A little out of breath, but otherwise it was as if he did just wake from a dream.

A nightmare.

He pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them as the memory of Loki disappearing into a whisp of smoke flickers through his brain. He shudders at the thought of pain erupting from his back, hot lava shooting through his chest and that molten spear sticking out of his suit jacket. He groans involuntarily, rocking against his knees.

The door to the room flies open. Phil looks up and sees a doctor walk briskly in, with Nick striding behind him, eye narrowed.

"Name, rank, and serial number," Fury snaps.

Phil meets his eye and responds without thinking. "Agent Phil Coulson, Level Ten, SKJ 08U7342."

Nick nods sharply at the doctor, who wastes no time in silently checking Phil's vitals. He leaves with a nod to Fury.

"What's going on?" Phil asks. Spitting out his rank and number had shifted him into operations mode without warning.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Fury says, leaning against the bedside stand and crossing his arms.

Phil closes his eyes and purses his lips. "Pain," he says. "Loki stabbed me and I was dying. Nick," he adds, leaning forward, "What the hell happened?"

"You've been out about six hours. You were stabbed, but – " he breaks off and shakes his head.

"What. Happened."

"Remember Steven Strange?" Nick suddenly looks older. Tired.

"You called Strange?" Phil can't keep the awe out of his voice. Strange was someone Phil had met three times; he'd come once to the R&amp;D department to inspect an 084 that Strike Team Delta had uncovered on an op deep in the heart of Alaska, and Phil had been at his mansion a couple of times for help identifying odd elements of ops he'd been running. He doesn't like Strange, but he respects him.

"As soon as you went down. I had to. He was the only person I could think of who might help. He came as soon as we got you groundside, and he said you were lucky the spear used Tesseract energy. He was able to reverse its effects with some of his crazy-ass magic."

"I'm really okay?"

"Do you feel okay?"

Phil considers it. "Physically, but shit. Tha – " he cuts off as his brain finally catches up completely, and he feels the blood drain from his face.

Nick is at his side in an instant. "Phil?"

"Clint," is all he can manage. Clint had been taken. Gone. Compromised. They were going to have to kill him, and Phil knows it. Time tips.

"_We may have to, Phil." _

"_Nick." _

"_He can take down a building all by himself. He's gathering people. He could take down the fucking helicarrier if he finds the right people."_

"_I know. I know, but Nick." _

"_We'll try to keep it from being you, Phil. We'll try." _

"_Okay." _

"_But if we can't, and you have the shot…" _

"_I know. I fucking know." _

"_I'm sorry, Phil." _

Phil had fought for time, for a chance to try and get Clint back, but both men knew.

"He's alive and on our side again," Nick says, and he puts a hand to Phil's shoulder and squeezes.

Phil ducks his head and tries to catch his breath. Clint is alive. No one had shot Clint dead and he's back on the right side.

"He's alive, Phil. He even fought with the Avengers and helped bring down Loki's army. He's going to be okay."

Phil looks up sharply. "Going to be? Why isn't he here?"

At that, his long-time friend and boss looks away from Phil and says, "Ah. Well. Let's start with I have a car out front waiting for you and Romanov has been keeping me apprised of his location."

Thirty minutes later Phil is in an elevator in Stark Tower again. The sense of déjà vu is staggering, and he's gripping the bar on the wall with white knuckles, thinking about the cellist line he'd fed Stark last time he was here. There'll be no lines today.

He steps off the elevator to a surprised gasp from Natasha. He sees her standing beside a plush couch and he stares. She's dressed in dark jeans and a green sweater and her hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She looks like she's dressed for a movie night, until he meets her gaze. Her eyes are shadowed, tired, and guarded like they'd been the first day he met her.

She draws a small pistol as soon as she sees him.

"Natasha," he says, and holds his hands up. He scans the room but Clint isn't there, just Stark and Thor standing near the bar and Banner and Cap coming out of the kitchen.

"Stop," Natasha warns, and Phil does. She'll shoot him if he doesn't let her do her own check. "Stark, can JARVIS-"

"JARVIS, scan Agent Coulson and make sure he's him," Stark says, setting his drink down and crossing his arms.

Phil stands still and waits.

"It is, indeed, Agent Coulson," the AI reports after a moment and Stark and Banner both say 'fuck' at the same time.

"Fury called Stephen Strange," Phil says quickly. "He healed me. I'm tired, but seemingly in perfect health." He looks at Natasha. "I need to see Clint." Phil's going to come out of his own skin if they keep him away any longer. "Where is he?"

Thor chooses that moment to wrap Phil in a bear-hug from behind and Phil reacts poorly.

"Son of Caul it is so good to see you healthy!" Thor booms, but Phil twists out of his arms, and falls to the floor, rolling away and standing all in one move. He's breathing heavily and Thor steps back, stricken. "I am sorry," he says. "I did not mean to surprise you."

Natasha's at his elbow and reaches out to touch his arm carefully. "Phil," she says, and it feels like her voice hits something inside his chest, shattering the hastily thrown up wall he'd built around the fear he'd been feeling as soon as he realized Clint wasn't with him. He folds himself into her arms and she holds him tightly, whispering to him in Russian.

"You're safe," she says. "He's safe, too."

Phil pulls back and looks at her. "He's all right?"

She reaches up and touches his cheek with two fingers, and he leans into the warmth of her hand. It's their old signal that things are in progress. Not lost, not found, but in progress. She's touched him like that in safe houses over the years as she patched herself up or after they made sure Clint was going to be all right. He remembers touching her cheek as he lay in a hospital bed in Brussels while Clint slept by his side.

"He will be. Tony's doctor just left to run a tox screen. He's got him on IV fluids, too. Loki didn't let him stop. He's been working nonstop since this started. He wanted to be alone, though."

Phil pulls away and she leads him out of the room and down a hallway. He can't shake the feeling of dread, but he keeps steady and follows her into a room. Clint is lying in a bed, blending in with the white sheets, eyes clenched shut, breath shallow.

"Clint," Phil whispers.

* * *

Clint's eyes fly open and he draws a staggered breath when he sees Phil standing beside his bed. His Phil, with affection in his eyes and a perfect blue suit in spite of the circumstances. Natasha stands beside Phil and Clint looks to her immediately. With a small nod she steps back, and that's all Clint needs.

"I thought – I thought you were dead?" He says. His voice is hoarse and low, and he tries to sit up, but his body isn't listening to him. He gets to his elbows and is breathing like he'd just chased down a HYDRA goon on foot, but Phil practically falls onto the bed, pulling Clint carefully into his arms.

"I'm here. Dr. Strange pulled some magic and I'll tell you about it later, but I'm really here."

Clint leans into him and wraps his arms around Phil's waist, burying his face in Phil's shirt, breathing in the scent of Phil's body. He can't stop trembling, and Phil pulls away and then leans down, pressing a kiss to Clint's lips.

He opens his mouth to let Phil in, exploring, tasting, and reveling.

"I thought-" Phil whispers as he pulls back, and he touches Clint's cheek, running a thumb across his jawline and moving to sift through his hair.

"What," Clint says. "What, Phil?" He wants to hear every thought in Phil's head, wants to know everything Phil wants and wishes for, now that this nightmare is over.

"I thought we were going to have to kill you," Phil says, and his eyes are bright with unshed tears. "I thought I was going to have to pull a trigger and kill you and I wouldn't ever sleep again and I wouldn't ever fight again and I didn't know what I was going to do if I'd had to kill you." He finishes and pulls Clint in for another kiss.

Clint pulls away from the kiss and blinks hard. "I thought you were _dead_. I thought I _let_ him kill you," he whispers. "I led him to you and let him have you and watched him run a spear through your chest and I kept on killing SHEILD agents as I went. If you had killed me it would've been the absolute right thing to do, Phil, trust me."

"I didn't kill you," Phil says, and he stands up. "And you didn't kill me."

He peels his suit jacket off and takes off his shoes and Clint draws a sharp breath as he strips off his dress shirt and pants so he's down to an undershirt and boxers. He climbs into the bed, mindful of the IV line. Clint's body, wired and thrumming like it's charged with electricity, relaxes as soon as Phil's cool skin hits it, and Clint presses against Phil, lets him wrap his arms around Clint's chest and throw a leg over Clint's legs so that they're touching in as many places as possible.

Phil whispers, "I'm here and you're here and we're going to rest and deal with the aftermath of this together, just like we always have. Natasha's waiting and Fury's waiting and your new team is waiting and when we're ready, we'll all regroup and move forward _together_."

Clint closes his eyes and lets Phil's voice wash over him, lets the cadence rise and fall in familiar patterns and calm his heart and unclench his muscles a little more with every word. He sleeps, and has nightmares that Phil holds him through as he screams, and he feels wrung out and sick when he wakes in the morning, but Phil is still there.

They'll recover.


End file.
